Downton Abbey S7
by kouw
Summary: A continuation of the Downton Abbey series as it might have gone, had the makers decided to give us another series - ensemble piece
1. S07E01 pt 1

The golden haze that lies over the estate and the sound of the children playing take him back in time. Tiaa's barks sound like the ones his previous dogs let out chasing rabbits across the field that lies behind the house. When he closes his eyes, he imagines he can hear the rustling of the light curtains in the wind. The children haven't seen him yet and he watches them playing with a ball, throwing and catching. Nanny looks on from her place on the blanket.

He's taken Tiaa out for a long walk. He passed the remodelled cottages and Yew Tree Farm. Andrew was nailings shingles back to the roof of the pig sty after they'd fallen off during the thunderstorm some days ago. He'd felt the window's vibrating from the beating storm and he worried about the tenants who were not as well-protected as he was.

Mary scoffed at him when he said something about it during dinner. Conversation had been about the garage and about the hospital. Not a word was spoken about Downton and all who depend on her. Mary's eyeroll and the swift change of topic had hurt him. He knew that she was the agent and that Tom had seen to it that the cottages were renovated, but he still could feel his loneliness and pain gripped him tightly days afterwards.

He's sought out the children now to see if they want to have their tea with him. He has been taking his tea alone for days. Cora attends meetings in York, Tom and Henry are in their new shop and Mary is either out on estate business or retiring to her room. Having Barrow standing in the room with just him feels foolish. Wasteful. Having the children in with him will cheer him up. He delights in their stories: Sybbie's spirited tales of adventurers and George's gentle ones of flower fairies. He enjoys their presence the way he once enjoyed the company of his little girls.

When George spots Tiaa, he calls her to him and squeezes the puppy against his chest and lets her lick his face. Nanny admonishes him and he turns to her, all big blue eyes and sweet smile and he sees Matthew's kindness there, mixed with Mary's neverending ability to get what she wants. Sybbie puts down the ball to pet the little dog and when she sees him, she calls out to him and runs over.

He catches her in his arms, but doesn't lift her. The doctor hasn't given him a clean bill of health yet.

* * *

"Are you sure it's alright?" she asks and Beryl heaves a sigh that can be heard inside the store-cupboard - were there anyone there to listen.

"I just said so, didn't I, you daft thing."

"I have everything ready and Mr Barrow has promised Andy could have the time off. There's only three for dinner with Lady Mary and Mr Talbot going out."

"I know!" She shakes her head.

"You are acting as if I've never given the family a meal before. I will have you know that I was cooking in this kitchen long before you were born!"

A smile creeps over Daisy's face and it warms Beryl's heart. The girl is happy. Andy is a good lad, working hard at the farm and trying his best here in the house. He's not really suited to service, not the way Mr Barrow is, or the way Mr Carson was. But those who are suited are rare now and it is even more rare to find someone to come to work in an estate situated far from the nearest village.

"Andy's taking me to the pictures and then straight to the farm," Daisy says as she buttons her coat.

"Yes, like you've told me and he told me and now you told me again."

Beryl's patience is wearing thin.

"Of course. Yes. Well. I'll be off then."

"Goodbye."

Daisy turns around on her heel and leaves the kitchen. Off to be courted. Beryl takes a deep breath. Holds it. Then lets it go.

* * *

"Catch me Donk!" George cries as he jumps off the sofa and Robert grunts as he only just managed to grab his grandson around the waist.

"Didn't your mother tell you it isn't nice to…"

"George! Aunt Mary said you couldn't jump on Donk!" Sybbie says, indignantly.

"Let's just ring for our tea, shall we?" Robert says, trying to maintain the peace.

Sybbie runs to ring the bell and before long Barrow enters with a tray. Both children squeal at the look of the treats readied for them - normally it is buttered toast for them up in the nursery, but there are toasted teacakes now and slices of lemon drizzle cake.

"Where is everybody?" George asks, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"They have all gone out to go to work."

"Why don't you go to work?" Sybbie asks.

Robert can only just hold back what is on the forefront of his mind:

A gentleman doesn't work.

* * *

"Mr Barrow," Elsie says before turning around and she knows it frazzles him. That it makes him uneasy that she knows who comes through her door without seeing. He hasn't learned every single servants' footfall yet. She has been listening to voices, footsteps, doors closing and whispered conversations for decades.

"How can I help you?"

"Lord Grantham is entertaining the children in the drawing room. I thought you might want to know."

"Thank you."

Mr Barrow isn't Mr Carson, but he is a good butler. He is appreciative of his fellow servants in a much different way than Charles ever was. There's a sense of camaraderie instead of paternal expectation. There's only Andy to support him during big dinners and there are only two girls coming from the village to help with the maintaining of the house. There's three char women coming for the big works.

There is actually not that much to do for her anymore, besides paying bills and checking ledgers.

Mr Barrow could easily do that. He has a good head for numbers.

"Is everything alright, Mrs Hughes?"

She sighs. "Of course, Mr Barrow. Why wouldn't it be?"

* * *

"Darling?" Edith addresses her husband as he is buttering his toast and slicing it into soldiers.

"Yes?" He looks up with a smile.

"I've received a note from the W.I. asking me about the annual fete."

"What fete?"

Edith bites her lip. "Well, I don't truly know. But it appears that a fete was held each year until your cousin decided to go without. One of the more… erm… forward ladies has taken it upon herself to ask if it could be reinstalled. She suggests attaching a fundraising element to it. For the local infirmary."

"I think I remember going to the fete as a boy, during the holidays. But I'm not altogether sure. What do you think?"

She watches as he stirs his tea. She briefly thinks about Mary and Henry - she is quite certain that Mary never rises early to join her husband in the dining room for breakfast, but she enjoys it. She likes discussing matters of the house and the magazine with him. To help him with matters of the estate.

"Can we spare the money to set it up?" she asks and Bertie smiles.

"I'd say so."

"And would the staff be up to it?"

"Oh. Hmm. What do you think?"

They look at each other. Bertie frowns and Edith sighs, thinking about the cook and the housekeeper, who are nothing like Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes.

"Indeed," she says and reaches for the strawberry jam.

Storebought.

Mrs Patmore would never stand for that.

* * *

 _Part 2 after the ad break!_


	2. S07E01 pt 2

He can hear the phone ringing over the sound of a car engine whirring to life. The garage has been busy since their opening day and Tom is pleased that things are going so well. They are employing three mechanics already and starting to make a name for themselves.

Henry is walking around, looking very dashing, talking to a young woman in a fur coat. Tom can easily see that the lady is quite taken with the dashing racing car driver. Henry could charm the birds off the trees, Tom knows. It's how sales numbers have been steadily going up.

Sybil would have shaken her head at the whole venture. She would have wanted to go back to Ireland eventually. For him to get back into journalism. To write the stories of those in need of a voice. He sighs. The phone rings again and he picks up, his voice unnaturally calm in his own ears.

He pulls the planner towards himself and picks up a pencil. He writes down the make of the car that will be brought in tomorrow and the person paying for the repairs. It's the day weekly salaries are paid and as he finishes the call, he contemplates being an employer instead of an employee.

He knows the fickle ways of employers. The way tenants can be pushed out of the property they've lived in for generations and how an illness can drop a family into poverty. The General Strike is still fresh in his mind; how for nine days it felt like revolution would break through and that perhaps the working classes would come out on top.

Instead the miners were worse off than before: working longer hours and forced to accept lower wages. Others were unemployed and would probably remain so for a long time to come. His hands are shaking. There is nothing that makes him as angry as injustice. There's no need for anyone to live in squalor. Poverty could be a thing of the past if only…

He rubs his forehead. If only Sybil were here, he thinks. She would have listened to him and discussed his ideas with him with passion and idealism. But she isn't. She is gone forever and there's nobody who has taken her place.

* * *

The landscape shoots by at considerable speed, but she doesn't pay much attention to it. She's been traveling up to Yorkshire for decades now and today is only different as it's because she's been summoned by her mother. Normally she undertakes the trip because of a wedding or because it's Christmas. But last evening's telephone call had her packing in the early morning and boarding the first class car before ten.

Normally she doesn't even bother getting out of bed before ten. Which is something she'll never tell her mother. Early rising is something Violet Crawley insists is the making of a lady. Rosamund snorts softly. Mama conveniently forgets that a lady's early rising means an even earlier morning for her maid.

Maids are hard to come by these days.

As it is, Rosamund is traveling without. She'll have to ask a porter to help her with her suitcases when they arrive in Downton. It won't be difficult, the station master has known her since she was a girl, coming back from finishing school in Switzerland.

Back then she had hoped her mama would be pleased with her. These days she is quite sure nothing she ever does pleases her mama, so she just does as she pleases. But her mother's snide remarks and acerbic observations had been missing from their weekly telephone call and that had been enough for Rosamund to deduce that something was quite wrong.

"There's something rotten in the state of Denmark…" she whispers to herself and leans back into the seat as far as she can, hindered by her hat.

* * *

"You know, I could ask…" Edith starts and reaches for the teapot.

Bertie looks up from his plate and puts down his toast. That is one of the things she adores most about her husband: the way he gives her his undivided attention.

"Well, I mean… I could ask mama if we could lend both Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore for a few days. So they can show us how to put on an event like that."

Bertie frowns into his teacup before taking a sip and answering.

"Wouldn't our own staff be terribly upset though?"

Edith nods. "Probably."

"But you could ask your mother how she puts on the garden fete, I am fairly certain she has some advice to give."

Edith stirs her tea and gives Bertie a cheeky smile. "We could always say that we are not going to be around."

Bertie shakes his head and Edith giggles.

"But where would we be?"

"We could be anywhere. In London for the Season, or in America to visit my grandmother or at Downton or maybe to the South of France or Italy. I've always wanted to go to Florence," Edith sums up ideas with glee, the idea of seeing something of the world a tantalizing idea.

Bertie shifts in his chair and takes a deep breath before saying: "Do you think you'll be up to traveling by then?"

Edith only just manages to keep her 'why wouldn't I be?' to herself before realising what her husband means.

"I think so. Let's not worry about it."

"Actually, I'm not. Not very, at least. It's just that Mother has already been dropping hints."

And with that the comfortable atmosphere at the breakfast table is ruined.

* * *

Anna changes the baby and she tickles his belly after pinning his nappy down. He smiles at her and her heart leaps at the sight of it. Her little boy gives her so much joy, just by being present. They waited so long and now it's even more than she ever dared dream of. It's in the way he smiles at her, but also the way his long eyelashes flutter and how he reaches out to his father when he sees him. Jack is a contented little chap and Anna is happy to show him off when they go on their way to Downton, pushing the pram with her little one tucked in safely..

They've been going home for the afternoons and traipsing back to get Lady Mary changed for dinner. It took a bit of getting used to the quiet at home, but now she relishes her time with her baby. She misses John though, especially when he decides to stay at the house. Which luckily isn't the case today.

He is sitting across from her, in his seat and he going through the newspaper. He's been circling advertisements.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Just looking at some of these ads."

"What are they selling? Or are you looking for a new position?"

John stands up and Anna can see his knee is bothering him. It's been bothering him more and more these days and he's been stubbornly avoiding seeing Dr Clarkson about it.

"Here…" he puts the paper next to the powder and dirty nappy.

He has circled inns and guesthouses for sale and to let. Her heart starts racing.

"Really?" she asks, her voice thin.

"It's time. Don't you think?"

Anna nods. "I'd say so, Mr Bates."

* * *

"Where's Daisy?" Elsie asks.

"She's gone to the bioscope with Andy," Beryl answers. She is wiping down the counters.

"On their own?" Elsie is surprised and doesn't hide it.

"Daisy's been doing a lot of growing up," Beryl says to defend herself. There's a faint blush covering her cheeks and neck.

"That's what I'm afraid of…" Elsie bites her lip.

"Now, we both know that Daisy is nothing like Ethel."

Beryl turns around to busy herself with the kettle, a teapot and makes both herself and Elsie a steaming mug of tea. She picks up a tin from the shelf and offers her friend a biscuit.

Elsie nibbles on her biscuit before answering.

"No. No, I suppose you are right. Daisy's a clever girl."

"She is. We shouldn't worry. And I am sure Mr Mason will have said something to Andy, too."

This brightens Elsie considerably. "Yes. You are right. If Charles were here, I would have nudged him to say something to Andy, too, but I don't think I could ask that of Mr Barrow."

Beryl raises her chin. "Why can't you ask him?"

Elsie shrugs. "Because it feels like an imposition."

"But you wouldn't feel like that with Mr Carson?" Beryl's lip curl into a tiny smile.

Elsie has the good graces to blush. "Oh, hush, you," she says and drinks her tea.

* * *

 _Part three after the ad break_

 **A/N** : In case you leave a review with a question as a guest: I cannot respond to you personally! Please consider signing up: you don't have to be a writer to do so, but that way we can strike up a conversation, especially if you think I have messed up something. xoxo


	3. S07E01 pt 3

The car pulls up right in front of the door and she goes in. Her head feels heavy and her shoulders tight. York hospital is a picture of modernity and the smell of disinfectant lingers in her nose after having been confronted with it since early morning..

Had mama ever been this involved? Cora wonders. Mama always seemed to have a more… ceremonial role. But what Cora has been doing is a long way from ornamental. She has visited the children's ward and she could feel her heart shatter with every pale little face staring at the ceiling. She walked down the long corridor to the wing that's being used as a 'resthome' for war invalids. She talked to soldiers unable to lead productive lives as their wounds left them disfigured and dismembered.

All day long she thought about Robert and how he had wished to join the men in Belgium and France and how lucky she had been he was spared.

She also remembers how unhappy he had been. How useless he had felt.

She knows he feels similarly now.

Barrow is coming towards her, as silently as Carson used to do and takes her coat and scarf without once touching her. He has been trained well and is settling in nicely. Of course after Mrs Hughes had had a word with him, Cora never expected anything else.

"His Lordship is in the Library, Milady," Barrow says and Cora thanks him..

She finds her husband perusing a photo album, a fairly full glass of scotch in his hand. The fire is still roaring in the fireplace and the curtains have been drawn. The room is cozy and comfortable and she sinks down beside her husband and kisses his cheek.

"This day was far too long," she tells him in a quiet voice and he looks up, frowning.

"Are you alright?" he asks and she smiles.

"Just tired."

"Mrs Patmore has kept some of our dinner warm, I think." It's an offer and Cora recognises his will to look after her.

"That would be wonderful. I'll have it on a tray here with you."

The smile Robert gives her breaks her heart almost as much as the children had done.

* * *

"I'm home!" she calls into the dark hallway.

"Did you have a good day?" he returns her call from their little parlour.

Elsie takes off her gloves and her hat, then hangs up her coat. She bends over to unbuckle her shoes and can hear a series of little clicks coming from her shoulders and spine.

"Nothing very exciting," she says as she makes her way to the sofa.

Charles has been reading and there's a teapot on a light. She picks up the pot and finds it empty.

"I'll make you a fresh pot," Charles says and takes the teapot from his wife. His hand trembles dangerously.

"What have you been doing?" Elsie asks, suspicion in her tone and in her eyes.

"Nothing much."

His answer is a little too light. A little too laissez-faire. She's not buying it.

She reaches for the biscuit tin and pulls out the last shortbread biscuit. She nibbles on a it slowly, feeling the fatigue of the day creeping from her shoulders down to her feet. She is much too tired to be dealing with a husband who will not listen to the doctor or to his wife.

She sighs, closes her eyes and leans her head back against the backrest.

* * *

The drive home is quiet. Henry is smoking a cigarette and looks out the window. He looks contented and calm. Tom thinks about one of their mechanics who has just lost his wife and has four other mouths to feed. He feels distant from Henry and lonely. It's been sinking in since early that morning and it's growing in force.

He misses Sybil.

He loved her so dearly and she made him want to be a better man. He tries now, to pay tribute to her memory. If it were just him, he would leave and go to Liverpool. Work with his cousin. He'd go back to Ireland and write. He'd take that ship again and settle down in Boston. Or perhaps in Melbourne. Sail around the Cape. But there's Sybbie to consider and he loves her more than life itself.

He cannot take her away from the only home she's ever known.

"Another day come and gone," Henry says. Tom's eyes water.

It must be the smoke.

Must be.

* * *

"You are looking cozy," Beryl says as she spots the butler and the lady's maid sharing a glass of sherry in what used to be room from which Mr Carson used to conduct all of his business. Sometimes when she passes it and the door is open, she catches a whiff of what she knows to be his scent.

She misses him. She misses hearing his deep voice bellowing up the stairs and she misses his presence at the head of the table.

Life changes fast. Faster than she knows how to deal with. Mrs Hughes marrying Mr Carson. Daisy taking her exams and growing up. Lady Edith moving across the country - and with it there's nobody to favour her lemon drizzle cake. Mr Carson retiring and Lady Grantham taking over in the hospital: it is all a bit much.

"Would you join us, Mrs Patmore?" Mr Barrow says and there is no glimmer of the young man that was once a bitter, conniving footman. He seems genuine and Miss Baxter turns to her, too.

"You'd be most welcome."

Beryl shakes her head. "No, thank you. It's an early start for some of us."

It comes out with a bitter twang and her accent is heightened. She rubs a cold hand over her hot forehead.

"Are you alright, Mrs Patmore?" Miss Baxter sounds worried and Beryl nods.

"Just tired."

Mrs Hughes used to ask that question. Once upon a time, when they were not even on the brink of middle age. When doubling over in pain was a monthly occurrence and when they ruled the downstairs together - making sure Downton Abbey was a well-known house. A place guests longed to be invited to. Mr Carson may have been the image guests took home, representing all of them downstairs, but it was them who made it all work.

They were like siblings and being there without either of them, feels like she is missing a limb.

Now Miss Baxter has asked if she is alright, she can feel her head pound painfully. There's a drop of perspiration running from her neck down her back.

"I'll be off. I bid you good night."

Mr Barrow and Miss Baxter wish her the same and slowly Beryl ascends the stairs. Up and up to the attic room that is cold and clammy.

She undresses and slips into her nightgown. She cleans her teeth. Washes her hands and face and braids her hair. She instantly falls asleep when her head hits the pillow.

* * *

"So this is how it is going to be?" Andy asks as he watches Daisy putter around the kitchen, checking the range and the tap and as she headshakingly puts away a dish of butter Mr Mason has forgotten to put away.

She turns around with a little smile. There's tension in the air. A kind of expectation there wasn't before, though it must have started building as soon as they entered the farmhouse and found Mr Mason's note:

 _Gone to bed with a powder  
Don't forget to lock up after yourself_

Andy gets up from the table and puts his empty water glass in the sink. He stands close to Daisy and kisses her cheek.

"I suppose," she answers and smiles again at his frown. She's responded so late to his question, he's nearly forgotten it.

When realisation dawns, he grabs her hand.

"What will we do next, then?"

Her heart is beating fast and she is indescribably warm.

"You will make a round through the house and lock up and I will rinse out the last things."

"Hmm…" He kisses her cheek again. Then her lips. "And then?"

"We'll go up. After a long day, we'll long for our bed, no doubt."

Blushes grace her cheeks. Her eyes sparkle. Andy kisses her lips. Softly first and firmer next. They've kissed before. Innocently and less so. In the cinema tonight they sat much closer than appropriate and petted a bit.

Over their clothes.

Daisy bites the inside of her lip when Andy offers his hand, but takes it.

Together they leave the kitchen and turn off any lights on their way to Daisy's room.

* * *

 _Part 4 after the ad break_

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's the thing: this story was started back in March and the first two chapters clearly show that I needed a break. Continuing it is frightening. I am actually afraid as I am putting it up. This isn't a little Carson/Hughes drabble where they are sweet together. It's an involved story, intricate. Every chapter has leads to other chapters and storylines will run over the course of several 'episodes'.

Getting back in the saddle - or rather: picking up a quill - is important to me and I want to thank everybody for their continued support and kindness over these past two weeks.


	4. S07E01 pt 4

"She looks so peaceful," Bertie says and Edith nods.

"I think she is happy here. A bit lonely perhaps without George and Sybbie, but Nanny says she is doing fine." Edith tucks her daughter in and kisses her brow.

"Yes, she seems a happy little thing." Bertie reaches and pets the dark curls before blessing his stepdaughter.

"You know, this fete you got that letter about…" He says as they leave the nursery, keeping the door ajar so Nanny can hear Marigold call out in the night.

"What about it?"

"I was thinking: If you and I can put a magazine together in one night, there's no reason we couldn't set up a simple country fete."

Bertie opens the bedroom door and Edith slips through before him.

"I suppose you're right. It's just such a peculiar idea: me putting on an event like that. Everyone always thought Mary would be the one doing such things." Edith sits down in front of the vanity and starts wrapping her hair in a silk shawl before rubbing some cold cream on her face before taking it off again.

"Best get used to it. Garden parties, shootings, house parties, regimental dinners…"

"The magazine also needs supervising, you know. I can't just be here to play lady of the manor. I do have a job."

Edith gets up and walks over to her husband, who eases down the zipper of his wife's dress with practiced ease.

"I know. I am sure we can plan around you obligations."

Edith smiles at him and joins him on his side of the bed, cuddling up close.

"I'm very lucky to have found you, you know," she says and Bertie looks at her happily.

"I feel just the same way."

* * *

Rosamund had managed to undress herself and had taken care of her bedtime rituals in record time, only to find that the bed in the guest room was frightfully cold.

She doesn't enjoy the cold. She likes warmth. Heat even. She had rolled her eyes at Mary when she spoke of the South of France being too hot. Rosamund enjoys luxuriating in the sunshine. She loves wearing the lightweight clothes and the blue skies. She likes drinking champagne and drowning raspberries or strawberries or slices of peach in her glass.

She loves watching the men in their cricket whites, running around a field. She understands nothing of the rules and politely applauds when other spectators do. But she usually manages to single a young man out to keep an eye on. To keep her from being bored as the game goes on and on.

The thought of summer is quenched as she turns over and the sheets feels icy and almost wet against her. She pulls up her knees and thinks about dinner and after dinner coffee. She has no idea why Mama has summoned her.

Not a single hint was dropped. They spoke of nothing but trivial and familial matters. Edith outranking all of them now - which had brought a naughty little twinkle to Mama's eyes - Mary's little secret and Robert being so bored.

Which she could easily understand. Wasn't she bored stiff herself?

* * *

"Do you know, I never was this tired when I was a girl?" Elsie says as she puts her cold feet against her husband's warm calf.

He jumps a bit, still not used to it after months of sharing a bed.

"I mean: I'd be woken up around five thirty and would run my legs out from under my body and not see my pillow again until eleven at the earliest and be so bone-weary I'd fall asleep immediately, but it never felt like this."

She sighs. When she scrunches a bit closer to Charles, she hears her back click in several places.

"It's a different kind of tired," Charles offers and plants a kiss on the top of her head.

"I don't even have that much work anymore. Everything has changed and I know, I know -" she puts her hand on Charles's chest to stop him from laughing at her, "- I've never been against change, but to be honest: there is nothing I do that Miss Baxter couldn't do. Mr Barrow has everything well in hand and I have a distinct feeling that Mr Bates is not going to be with the family for much longer."

"Why would you think that?" Charles frowns.

Elsie shrugs and rubs her feet together. "Just a feeling I have."

"Lady Mary would be very upset if Anna doesn't return." Charles runs his hand up and down Elsie's arm to warm her up a bit.

"Hmm. Maybe," Elsie says non-committedly. She untangles herself from the sheets and blanket and her husband's grip and turns off the light.

"Let's just go to sleep. Tomorrow will start early enough."

Wrapped up in her husband's arms, she smells the distinct scent of soil. She sighs and runs her hand up over his chest.

"Don't work too hard," she whispers. "The other house will be done when it's done."

* * *

The night is cold and damp, but Andy doesn't feel it. His mind is occupied with images of Daisy and his senses are filled with her. His hair is a wild disarray of dark strands and his cheeks blush brightly. His eyes sparkle, though he doesn't see much.

He walks unhurriedly. The path is unlit, but he knows the way. He's walked from the house to the farm and back again a hundred times. Never once has it been like this. His legs are a bit wobbly and his lower back feels strained and he wouldn't be able to come up with an excuse as to why he is so late when put on the spot, but it's been great.

Unexpectedly wonderful.

It didn't feel quite right leaving Daisy all by herself afterwards, but there wasn't much for it. Mr Mason would have his hide if they were found out in the morning and besides: he's expected back to help serving breakfast in the dining room at eight..

How he is to face Mrs Patmore as he sits down to his own breakfast is something he chooses not to think about. Instead he imagines the loveliness of Daisy. The softness of her skin, the strong muscles of her thighs. The hungry kisses they shared and how everything faded to the background and made the other thing simple. That one thing they shouldn't have done.

But he isn't sorry. He is not sorry at all. He is sorry he's hurt her - but she reassured him it was only a little bit and only for a little while. He's soaringly happy he's found his Daisy in this way. It confirms to him that they belong together.

As he walks he fantasises about a civilian life. Of taking over the farm and setting up house with his love. He thinks about how Daisy can do the business part and he can do the hands-on part. He is convinced they'll be very happy together.

Nothing can possibly go wrong, now.

* * *

As he scribbles a last note in the margins of the final test he has to correct, Joseph Molesley thinks about Phyllis Baxter and how much he misses her.

Teaching is his vocation. What he was born to do. He knows that now. But at night, when he is all alone in his room in the old house where he grew up, he feels terribly lonely. He wishes he could think of a way to talk to her. To be with her.

Sometimes he runs into her when she is on an errand for her ladyship. Of course on Sunday, after church, they see each other.

She is always kind. Always happy to see him.

He puts the mark for the test in the top right corner and puts down his pen and gathers his things. As he sets up his things for the next day, he wonders if there'll ever be a day when an unlucky man could have it all.

* * *

"You look completely wrung out," Mary says as she hands her mother a glass of sherry.

"Working a full days is not quite the same as being Lady Grantham all day," Cora says with a smirk before taking a sip.

"But it does give you something to _do_." Mary sits down on the red velvet sofa, across from her mother and picks up her cup of tea.

"Did you have a good day?" Cora asks.

"Nothing very out of the ordinary. Did the books for a bit, looked at some plans for the final renovations and had a visit with George and Sybbie after they were done having a picnic with Papa. Did wonders for him, by the way. He is terribly gloomy lately."

"Hmm," Cora swallows another sip before continuing. "I think he is lonely. And feels like he doesn't have much part of our lives anymore."

Mary shrugs. "The children adore him."

"Mary, you don't think your father would enjoy a bit of adult conversation now and then? Before Tom was the agent, he did do what he could for Downton, you know."

"I best inform him how things are, it will be a while, but he'll need to step in when I can't do it anymore." Mary runs her fingertip around the rim of her cup.

Cora takes a bigger sip and closes her eyes for a bit. Behind her she can hear the almost silent footfall of Barrow.

"Milady, his Lordship and Mr Talbot have gone up. His Lordship asked me to let you know."

"Thank you, Barrow."

Noiselessly Barrow slips away again.

"I miss Carson," Mary says when she assumes Barrow is out of earshot.

"We all do. Barrow is competent, but he doesn't have the… I don't know."

Cora drains her glass.

"Henry'll be waiting," Mary says and gets up from the sofa. Elegantly, as always. "Goodnight, Mama."

"Goodnight, dear."

The house is quiet except for Mary's heels on the wooden floors towards the staircase. Cora pulls her legs up and under her. She has a lot of thinking to do.

Why was Tom not with Robert and Henry? Is there a way she can cut back on her hospital duties? With Christmas in sight, is there a way she can do something wonderful for Robert? She remembers he once joked about going off to the South of France in a sportscar with her.

The idea is strangely appealing, as darkness envelopes the house and she imagines herself a pea in a pod far too large. Bashing around with the few other peas. One of the curtains hasn't been drawn completely and she rises from the sofa. She looks out unto the park towards the folly. Trees stand silently in the windless night. The moon is nothing but a little crescent.

This is her home. And she will make sure everything will turn out alright.

* * *

 _fade to titles_

 _end of episode_

 **A/N:** Thank you everybody for your wonderful support. I really appreciate all your kindnesses.

I am fairly sure there won't be a second episode. Whilst an undertaking like this ought to be seen through, I find I've bitten off more than I can chew at the moment. I don't reject writing more for this seventh series off-hand, but for now I will put this story on 'complete'. Thank you.


End file.
